


Sin Is Merely A Matter Of Perspective

by Profrock



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:24:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7461126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Profrock/pseuds/Profrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil had a problem. He says “had” because it was true, he did, but it was past now, and he wanted to get passed it himself. It wasn’t exactly the type of problem that one could just wave away however, and the choices he made years ago still affected him to that day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sin Is Merely A Matter Of Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> so.... umm... this was going to be short, idk what happened

Phil had a problem. He says “ _had”_ because it was true, he did, but it was past now, and he wanted to get passed it himself. It wasn’t exactly the type of problem that one could just wave away however, and the choices he made years ago still affected him to that day.

When he was younger, it was much more of an eyebrow raiser when, at parties or bars or even just friendly dinners, Phil would politely refuse a glass of wine, or a beer, or whatever over-priced frilly drink his friends would try to buy him. He was a university student in his mid-twenties; why didn’t he want to get wasted at every possible opportunity? He would always have to answer with a shrug and a meandering explanation about how he just didn’t like to get drunk. People would usually leave him well enough alone after that, but there were always a couple of people who would press it, and Phil would have to ball his hands into fists and smile through clenched teeth and repeated refusals. There were times when he just wanted to tell everyone, but he thought it would most likely be a bad idea to gather all of his friends in a room, sit them down and say: “ _so, I was addicted to just about everything you can imagine for a year and a half”_ and afterwards still have people to call his friends. It was better to sit on his secret, keep it all inside, then to have it eat away at his friends and family too.

It all started when Max died. It wasn’t even anything special, just another first-year uni student who was hit by a drunk driver in the middle of the night while crossing the street. But for Phil, his whole world crumbled.

It was already a rocky beginning for Phil at university. He came fresh out of college; a closed, sheltered environment, and dropped right into the middle of the bustling and busy life of a York student. It was all so much to handle: so much to process, to do, to read, to know, to learn and it had Phil crying into the shoulder of his roommate and a bottle of cheap vodka before the third week was out.

_“It’s just too much, Max,”_ Phil remembered hiccupping out between sobs and swigs of liquor.

_“Hey, come on. You can do it, I know you can. You just have to take it all day by day.”_ Max’s voice was soft and encouraging, his breath warm on the nape of Phil’s neck.

“ _I’m the older one, I’m supposed to be the one saying stuff like this to you,”_ Phil had said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Max’s eyes had been even softer, and when Phil had crumpled back into his chest he had just sat there, holding Phil and tracing abstract designs on his back until he calmed down enough. And that was their relationship. Phil couldn’t tell you how many times Max had talked him off the ledge during that first year. It had all been so big and new for him, and he was totally out of his depth, but Max, no matter how busy he was, would always find time for Phil.

It was near final exams, an appropriately bleak and rainy May night. Max had been walking back from the library, responding to another one of Phil’s freak-out texts. He hurried across the street, so single-mindedly focused on getting back to Phil that he didn’t see the red Toyota screaming around the turn.

Max’s blood matched the paint as it sprayed across the hood of the car, his rag-doll body flying and landing fifteen feet away. The girl behind the wheel stumbled out of the car, vomiting cheeseburgers and beer onto the curb beside her. The cops where the ones who had broken the news to Phil; the cops were the ones who sat silently by with sympathetic expressions as Phil slowly, quietly, went to pieces on the couch in front of them. But it was only Phil who stumbled to the cabinet when the cops were long gone and the sun was breathing light into the sky, pulling out the three-fifths rum he had stashed away a few months ago and drinking it all before ten o’clock. It was only Phil who found himself at the liquor store again not even an hour after the rum had been cleared out, skipping class to peer into dirty glass windows and slap down ID and a twenty to walk away with sixteen cents and two bottles’ worth of sanity. 

Eventually, even drinking wasn’t enough to dull the pain anymore. It was late summer, and Phil didn’t want to go back for his second year of university. He couldn’t make himself trace the halls and grounds that he had walked with his best friend. It was his fault Max was gone, and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure he knew it.

Phil didn’t show up for registration. He was too busy snorting cocaine off of some dealer’s dirty bathroom floor.

The next eighteen months passed, and Phil wasn’t sober once. If it wasn’t cocaine it was beer, and, if he could get his hands on it, it turned into LSD and heroin. Those were the good nights; the ones where he could find dealers who would let him pay in sexual favors instead of cash. Phil had all but run out by the time September rolled around again, but he still somehow managed to scrape together enough to pay for his habits.

It was a rainy March day, much like the one Max had died on, that marked the turning point for Phil. It didn’t come in the form of a huge epiphany or religious breakthrough, though. It came in the form of a small tailless kitten; calico, with one blue eye and one green eye that hadn’t even opened yet, hidden in the shadows behind a dumpster at the back of an alleyway. The next five dollars Phil came across, for the first time in literal _months_ didn’t go towards drugs or alcohol or fast food; it went towards a quart of milk from a mini-mart next to a gas station, sold to him by a large woman with greying hair and smiling eyes and a nametag reading ‘ _Nancy.’_ The kitten was curled, soft and warm, in Phil’s palm inside the pocket of his thin hoodie.

The kitten became Phil’s sole focus for those first two weeks. He cradled her close to his chest whenever he felt cravings coming back; he rubbed her underneath the chin when invisible scorpions felt like they were climbing underneath his skin; he fed her when he was shaking so bad he couldn’t see straight, dipping one trembling index finger into the carton and letting the kitten lick and nip his finger tip. He woke up curled protectively over her the first time he woke up sober since the night Max died.

He named her Maxine, and she opened her eyes for the first time when he kissed her on the nose with breath that for once didn’t smell like vodka and vomit. Phil got a job at a small, greasy diner as a dishwasher later that day.

And Phil hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since then. He had gotten clean, gone back to university, started a YouTube career and met his now best friend. He wasn’t going to throw all of that away for a high.

 

“Dan!” Phil yelled, holding the offending article of clothing between pinched fingers at arms length, as far away from his body as he could manage. “Get your dirty socks off my pillow!” The perpetrator materialized out of the bus’ kitchen area with a sheepish expression. Phil rolled his eyes, tossing the socks at Dan’s face. Dan caught them, but only barely, looking offended.

“Did you ever even get the ones back from PJ?” Phil asked, with the expression of someone who already knows the answer to their question. Dan’s sheepish grin got even wider.

“Nope.”

Phil groaned, but there wasn’t any actual anger behind his voice. “You better tweet him an apology.”

“Yes _mum_ ,” Dan said with an eye roll. Phil flicked him.

“Ow,” Dan pouted. Phil grinned back.

Dan yawned, his eyelids fluttering and his arms stretching upwards of their own volition. Phil had to actively refrain from booping Dan’s nose, of poking the pale sliver of skin on his stomach exposed by his riding-up shirt.

“I’m tired, I think I’m going to head to bed,” Dan said once he had retracted from his yawn, and Phil nodded, checking the time on his phone. Eleven oh-eight. 

“It’s not even midnight, you weakling,” he teased, to which Dan responded with a huff.

“The time zones are changing every week, who can blame me?”

Phil’s eyes softened, and he smiled. “I know. Goodnight, Dan.”

“Night, Philly.”

Phil scoffed as Dan turned on his heel, sashaying out of the room with a smile in his eyes. Phil deliberated for a second, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Hey Dan?” he called, and Dan paused, looking back over his shoulder with a cocked eyebrow. “You want the bed tonight? I’m not feeling tired, I’m gonna be up for a while.”

Dan’s eyebrows knit in confusion, a thousand questions and concerns flitting through his mind before he managed to smooth his forehead. “You sure?” he settled for. Phil nodded, shuffling to the side as Dan came back down the narrow hallway towards him, and towards the lone bedroom.

“Thanks,” Dan said, uncharacteristically soft. The bedroom had really been a sticking point between the two, Phil eventually pulling his ‘best friend card’ and calling in one of the occasional favors that he could when the issue mattered to him that much. He and Dan worked so well together so much of the time, almost instantly agreeing about just about every issue, but occasionally, one of them could just say that something had to go their way, and the other would let it rest. It was a good system, one that resolved many full-on disputes before they even started.

Dan opened his mouth, just about to extend an offer for Phil to just come in and join him later, if Phil felt like it, before shaking his head and closing his mouth, mumbling out another ‘thank you’ before closing the bedroom door behind him.

Phil grabbed his laptop, settling into the corner of the couch in such a way so he could put his feet up on the coffee table and keep his laptop plugged in to the charger rooted into the wall. He opened the machine, his fingers hovering uncertainly over the keyboard. He typed ‘twitter’ into the search bar slowly, spelling out every letter of the url even though Google autofilled it two letters in.

Every keystroke was controlled and measured; deliberate to a fault. He was bored after scrolling barely five minutes down his timeline, but at this point it was more effort to stop scrolling then keep going, so he persisted.

Phil’s eyes started to burn at about one am, and he blinked furiously, snapping his laptop shut with a single, decisive motion. He shuffled the pillow and blankets around, situating himself underneath them. He took of his glasses and put them on the coffee table. The chorus of _America’s Suitehearts_ played on loop in his head.

The engine of the bus thrummed, and Phil turned onto his back, blinking up at the blurry shadows that decorated the ceiling. He coughed. A slight breeze crossed through the lounge area, and Phil shivered, turning onto his left and squeezing his eyes shut. They slid open of their own volition after maybe five minutes.

The coat hanging on the back of the chair across from Phil looked a bit like Louise’s face. Phil huffed to himself, shifting his eyes away, instead focusing on the glowing blue numbers across the bottom of the stereo system. He squinted. The blurry blob came sort-of into focus, but Phil still couldn’t make out the time. His eyes were still drawn to Louise’s face in the shadows.

With a sigh, Phil tossed the blanket back and swung his legs off the couch, standing up with a grunt. He picked up the jacket, squinting at it, before tossing it across the room. It landed it in a heap on the floor. Phil shambled back over to the couch.

He sat back down, rubbing his eyes. He pressed the heels of his hands to his closed eyelids until spots danced behind them, until it felt so good there wasn’t anything else he ever wanted to do. He took his hands away, dropping them into his lap and blinking away the lightning bolts that danced in front of his vision. He picked up his glasses, glancing at the clock. One twenty-seven. He flopped back down with a resigned sigh, his hair flopping onto his forehead.

Five episodes of an anime Phil honestly couldn’t remember the title of and one jerk-off session he couldn’t really get into later, and he was no closer to sleep. He opened his laptop again, squinting against the brightness that assaulted his eyes. It was just past three. He laid down again.

Dan came skipping into the lounge at eight practically _singing_ about how good being in the bed for the night felt. Phil hadn’t slept a wink.

 

“Okay, Phil, seriously, are you okay?” Dan asked, after Phil had offered him the bed for the fourth night in a row. Phil nodded and shrugged, doing his best to stifle the yawn building in his throat. He didn’t do a very good job. Dan yawned too.

“Phil, honestly. You just about fell off the stage again today, and you were asleep on your feet for the meet and greet. Are you okay?”

Phil nodded again, then shrugged, then sighed.

“I don’t know. I just can’t get to sleep is all. I’m sure it’ll pass in a few days.”

Dan nodded slowly. It was obvious he didn't believe Phil.

“Okay… But if this keeps on, tell me, okay?”

Phil nodded. He couldn’t meet Dan’s eyes.

Dan clapped once, starling Phil. “You know what. Come on.” He grabbed Phil’s wrist, leading him back towards the one bedroom. He tried not to think about the implications of what he was doing, or what he wished he was doing, but it was hard. He banged the door open, releasing Phil’s arm and rummaging through the drawers for something. Phil stood where Dan had left him, just watching.

“On the bed. Go,” Dan said, with a snap and a pointing finger, Phil groaned, but did as Dan instructed.

“Close your eyes.” Phil obeyed.

A few moments passed, filled with clunking and moving things and Dan’s voice, humming a melody Phil couldn’t quite recognize. He relaxed into the cushions involuntarily, slipping into a light sleep for just a couple of moments before being jarred out of it by nothing at all. He was ready to scream. Insomnia had never been a problem for Phil; if anything, he slept _too_ much. It was so frustrating, being right on the brink of sleep and then being rudely snatched back by his own brain. He had slept maybe a total of eight hours in the last week combined. He was ready to cry.

The bed dipped, signaling Dan’s presence on the mattress. A familiar tune started up, and Phil’s eyes snapped open, a smile jumping onto his lips.

“Buffy!” he cried, with the excitement of a two year-old who had just learned the word for the small, fluffy creature with a wet nose that licked everything in sight.

Dan laughed at his enthusiasm, sliding under the covers. Phil was quick to follow suit, pulling the blanket up to his chin as yet another vampire began terrorizing the fictional high school. It never got old.

Dan settled back into the pillows, his eyes hanging heavy and half-lidded. He yawned. “The telly’s gonna turn off after two episodes. You better have fallen asleep by then or so help me god.”

Phil laughed, eyes still glued to the figures onscreen. “I’ll do my best.”

He did his best not to wake Dan up when he left the room two hours later, after the episodes, and after thirty minutes of tossing and turning and cringing every time he head Dan shift and snuffle. He got maybe an hour of sleep on the couch.

 

“Okay,” Dan said, walking in to see Phil up and dressed at seven in the morning, the bags under his eyes more prominent then ever. “We’re seeing a doctor once we reach Virginia, and we’re going to see what we can do about this.” Phil blinked, his overtired brain struggling to grasp exactly what Dan had said. His eyes widened with a realization, and he almost dropped his coffee mug.

“No!” he shouted, and Dan jumped. “I mean, no, thank you,” Phil said, correcting himself with a nervous laugh. “I mean, shouldn’t we see if there are any other methods, before going straight to medication?” Dan narrowed his eyes. Phil didn't make the comment he wanted to, about “mom-mode Howell.”

“You have three nights,” Dan said, with an unintentionally dramatic tone. Phil wassuddenly reminded of the fairy tale Rumpelstiltskin, and the girl who was given three nights to spin three rooms full of straw into gold. “We’re seeing a doctor when we get to the hotel in Virginia.” Phil bit his tongue, not wanting to argue further and set Dan even further into his resolve.

 

Google was not helpful. Page after page of the same remedies, most of which Phil didn’t even have access too. A warm bath, for instance. Or sex, as one blogger suggested. Chamomile tea was delicious, but didn’t help. Hot milk was disgusting, as was the spoonful of lavender honey someone suggested he try. Nothing worked, and Phil had no choice but to hang his head, following Dan out the bus door and a few blocks over to a clinic that had agreed to a walk-in appointment.

The doctor who saw them was a nice, sweet lady, with a young face and a wedding band on her left hand. She gathered her wild hair into a ponytail, despite the few curls that still sprang free and hung into her coffee-coloured eyes.

“Hey there, I’m Stephanie. What’s the issue and with whom?” she said with a laugh, after she had washed her hands. Dan threw her a winning smile and pointed to Phil, already starting to talk.

“It’s this one. We’re from London, but here for a touring show, and we’re touring all around in a bus, see, and he hasn’t gotten any sleep at all for the past two weeks or so.”

Stephanie laughed. “I see. And is something preventing Phil from telling me this himself, or…” Dan blushed furiously, stammering out an apology. Stephanie laughed again, waving him off. “It’s all good. I just want to hear it from Phil himself. So what have you been noticing? Insomnia, I hear, but are there any other side effects? Headaches, nausea, anything?”

“I can barely keep anything down,” Phil confessed, to which Dan looked shocked and appalled. “You need to tell me these things sooner,” he tittered. 

“Alright then _mum_ ,” Phil snapped back, and Dan shut his mouth, looking hurt. Phil wanted to apologize, he really did, but it would take too much effort, effort he really couldn’t afford to waste.

“Dan, why don’t you go wait in the lobby,” Stephanie said slowly, after a tense minute. Dan nodded, tearing his eyes away from Phil’s and stepping out the door and into the lobby. He closed the door maybe a little bit harder then necessary behind him, and Phil sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Stephanie nodded understandingly. “I’m just irritable, I guess.”

“It makes sense, with insomnia,” Stephanie said gently, and Phil looked up at her.

“Fatigue, irritability, loss of appetite-“ Stephanie shook her head, shaking a few more locks of hair loose from their rubber band. “How much would you say you’ve been sleeping since you’ve come to the states…”

“Three weeks ago,” Phil supplied. “I slept fine for the first four or five nights. But then just, all of a sudden, I close my eyes and nothing happens. I’m lying there, in the dark, and my eyes are burning and I’m squeezing them shut and I’m still wide awake.”

“Mmhmm.” Stephanie jotted something down on her laptop. It was a small, black machine, with keys that clicked loudly when she typed. Phil wondered if she liked the noise it made, or if she just got bored of it after a while. He liked the noise. It made him feel important.

“And how many hours would you say you’ve been sleeping a night?”

Phil blew out a breath. “Sometimes three hours, if I’m lucky? Usually closer to one and a half, but spread out over the course of maybe five hours?”

Stephanie whistled lowly, still typing away. She looked up, meeting Phil’s eyes, but her fingers never stopped moving.

“See, that’s already not enough sleep in the slightest, and the spacing out means that you likely aren’t getting into REM sleep, which is the time when your body is fully at rest, and can begin to heal.”

Phil knew all of this, but he nodded anyway.

“And you want to be at about four hours of deep sleep a night, with eight hours of sleeping overall.” Phil nodded again. The keyboard clicks stopped.

“Tell me about your eating and your irritability.”

Phil shrugged. “It’s weird. Everything is just annoying, Too bright, too loud, too much. And as for eating, well, I just _can’t_. I can’t keep anything down.” _“It feels like I’m detoxing, all over again,_ ” he wanted to say. Instead he scratched his nose.

“Have you thrown up at all?”

“Yeah, a handful of times.”

“And you’ve tried natural remedies?”

“Everything the internet has to offer.”

Stephanie nodded, and the keyboard tapping started back up.

“Okay. So, what I’m going to do, is I’m going to give you a prescription for ambien, which you can fill out at -“ Phil wasn’t even listening. All he had heard was _prescription,_ and that was enough. He idly wondered if he should have told Dan about his problem before he had ushered Phil into the office. The answer was probably yes, and about eight years ago.

_Ambien._ Phil leafed through his mental rolodex of those eighteen months. He didn’t remember ambien.

He nodded when Stephanie stopped speaking, taking the piece of paper in her hand covered with scrawling, loopy handwriting. He tried to pretend it wasn’t a death sentence. It was easier then he expected.

Dan jumped up from the uncomfortable metal-and-stuffing chair that was way too small for him, half-jogging up to Phil as he exited, followed by Stephanie.

“Just talk to one of the people at the front desk on your way out,” she said with a bright smile. Dan returned in kind, thanking her profusely. Phil only stopped staring at the wall and mumbled a ‘thanks’ when prompted by Dan’s elbow to his side.

“I got a prescription,” Phil said as soon as they walked out of the building, before Dan could start barraging him with questions.

“Oh I’m so glad,” Dan said, and he looked so genuinely happy and relieved that Phil almost felt guilty about what he was hiding. Almost. 

 

Dan was the one who led Phil back to the bus, grabbing him into a hug before stepping back out the door to go to the pharmacy a couple blocks south. Phil meanwhile searched for a good hiding place.

 

“Back!” Dan sing-songed, barging triumphantly through the door with a small brown paper bag held up victoriously. Phil hoped his smile didn’t look as forced as it felt, and he took the proffered bag. He noticed his hands were shaking, just a little. Dan didn’t.

“Awesome, thank you.”

Dan beamed. “Don’t mention it.”

 

It was nearing one in the morning. Dan had gone to sleep in his usual spot on the couch hours ago, but Phil was still up, rolling the orange bottle of pills around in his hand. The light, rattling noise it made when he shook it was nice, he thought.

The act of pressing down on the cap shouldn’t have weighed so heavily on Phil’s mind. The press-turn motion felt so alien in his hands, yet so comfortable. Like trying to ride a bike after years of driving. The pills were small, blue, and circular. He tumbled a few of them out into his hand, holding his breath as he brought them closer to his eyes.

They had the distinct, chalk-y smell Phil had come to associate with pills and medication, and there was a small, faint, _50 mg_ stamped onto either side of each pill. There were at least six in his hand. He checked the label on the bottle: _Dosage: One pill to be ingested orally right before sleep. Do NOT ingest more then two (2) pills within six hours._ Phil swallowed the entire handful.

His head felt floaty as his eyelids drooped, and he yawned with a smile as he sank down onto his pillows. He closed the pill bottle carefully, setting it on his bedside table next to his glasses. He sighed, and stretched, and was asleep within minutes.

 

Dan checked his phone. Noon. He leant against the doorframe with a smile, watching Phil sleep: His back hair splayed out against the white of the pillows; his arms were above his head, and his jaw hung open. Dan stepped quietly closer, careful not to make too much noise. Phil snuffled, turning over to face Dan. His eyes moved behind his closed eyelids.

Dan bit his lip and sighed. In another world, he would be able to lean in, be able to press a kiss to Phil’s nose and wipe the strand of drool from his chin. Fall asleep in his bed, in his arms, and wake up next to that face every morning. But, that world was not this one, and Dan had an obligation. With one last, fond look he stepped back, clearing his throat.

“Phil! Wake up, we have to be at the venue in two hours.”

Phil jumped, startled, and blinked harshly. “Huh? What? What time is it?”

Dan laughed. “It’s past noon. How’d you sleep?”

Phil groaned, flopping back down and pulling the blankets over his shoulders. His chest, Dan realized, was bare. He tried not to think about that piece of information too much, but he felt his cheeks heating up regardless.

“I slept well, I think,” Phil eventually said, his voice muffled against the pillows. “Fell asleep at maybe quarter past one? And didn’t wake up at all during the night.”

Dan practically glowed with it, laughing and clapping like a small child. “I’m so glad the pills worked!”

Phil’s stomach dropped a bit when Dan said that, but he forced himself to sit up and smile anyways.

“Yeah, he said, reaching for his glasses as the sheets pooled around his waist. He looked up at Dan, noticing the boy’s fierce blush. Phil startled, quickly covering himself with the blanket, his own cheeks burning. He liked to sleep shirtless, and with him being awake before Dan every morning he had never had to worry about it. Dan coughed, turning towards the door.

“Be out in half an hour at the latest, okay?” Dan called, and Phil hollered assent back. “We’ll get food on our way there.”

Phil opened the bottle, tossing back two more pills before swinging his legs out of bed. His head was light but his eyes were heavy, and he groaned as he stretched upwards, popping his back. He felt rested for the first time in weeks.

 

The pills were gone embarrassingly quickly. It was barely over a week before Phil reached for the bottle and realized it didn’t make the shaking noise when he picked it up.

“Dan?” he called out, before realizing his mistake and cringing back into the bed, his heart pounding.

“Yeah?” Dan answered back, materializing in Phil’s doorway moments later. He stumbled slightly as the bus swerved, but he regained his balance and looked at Phil expectantly. “What’s up?”

“Oh, uh, nothing,” Phil said, his mind racing as he grasped for an excuse. He held up his phone charger sheepishly. “I, uh, I found it?” He bit his lip. He had never had to outright lie to Dan before, well, outside of surprise birthday parties. He felt transparent, as if Dan could see right through him and was judging every sordid thing from Phil’s past. Phil shoved the empty pill bottle under his pillow with his other hand, praying to a God he didn’t believe in that Dan didn’t notice. Dan narrowed his eyes, sizing Phil up. The small cross breeze from the open doorway tickled the drop of sweat on the back of Phil’s neck.

Dan opened his mouth, holding up a single finger accusatorially. Phil’s jaw dropped, all manner of excuses lined up ready on his tongue. Dan sneezed into the hallway, turning his head away from Phil. The panic in Phil’s chest receded slightly, and he almost sighed out loud.

“Sorry about that. Glad to hear you found it,” Dan said brightly, casting a glance over to the television. He rolled his eyes fondly.

“A lizard documentary, really Phil?”

Phil hoped his giggle didn’t sound as forced as it was.

“You know you secretly want to join me Dan. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.” He almost rolled his eyes as the irony of his statement.

“Guilty as charged,” Dan said with a laugh, bounding across the room in two leaps and throwing himself onto the bed. Phil squeaked, trying to roll over, but pinned underneath Dan’s solid weight.

“Oof,” Phil grunted, wrestling his way out from under Dan. Dan squealed as he was flipped onto his back, Phil’s hands pinning his wrists above his head.

“Stop it!” Dan squealed, laughing, as Phil wrestled his legs into immobility. Phil was grinning and breathing hard, looking down at Dan with a shit-eating grin of victory. Dan huffed, but he was smiling, panting, trapped about three miles deep into Phil’s eyes.

They stayed there, Dan laying under Phil, restrained, for longer than either boy cared to count. Phil found himself stuck, tracing with his eyes the light, faint smattering of freckles that had erupted across Dan’s nose from exposure to the sun. He had never noticed how _gold_ Dan’s eyes were underneath the brown, shining in the soft blue glow of the television as if there were a light behind them. Dan bit his lip, worrying it in the way Phil knew he did when he was anxious. He furrowed his eyebrows, bringing one hand up to gently tug the skin out from between Dan’s teeth. He didn’t move his hand away.

Dan’s jaw was slack, everything about him inviting, from the part of his lips to the spark in his eyes to the way he was laid underneath Phil, entirely at Phil’s mercy.

Phil pulled back as soon as he realized he had been leaning down, and just like that the spell was broken. Dan blinked, then flushed, shaking Phil’s hand off of his cheek and sitting up. Phil let him, jumping back as if he had been burned. The forced, happy voice of a medication commercial was the only noise in the room.

“I-I’m gonna, gonna…” Dan trailed off, practically falling off the bed in his haste to exit the room.

“Yeah,” Phil whispered after an empty doorway. “You do that.” He reached for the pill bottle, which he usually left in his nightstand drawer, but his hand was met with nothing but assorted junk and his wallet. He reached behind his pillow, the sad reality of his state entering his mind before his shaking fingers closed against the smooth plastic.

 

“I’m going out,” Phil announced, and Dan looked up from his laptop. He couldn’t meet Phil’s eyes though, instead staring firmly at the zipper pulled halfway up Phil’s chest. Phil shifted his weight from foot to foot, shoving his hands even deeper into his pockets.

“Just- to get some fresh air. Clear my head, you know?” Even as he was talking, he had no idea why he felt the need to explain himself to Dan. He grimaced as Dan winced at his last comment, and he grabbed the door handle as Dan’s eyes snapped back to his own computer screen.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, pressing the space bar. Phil opened the door as discordant conversation filled the room.

“See you later,” he mumbled, closing the door behind him and talking a left into the chilly, moon-lit night. He breath steamed in front of his face, and he shivered as he pressed on into the darkness.

 

It was easy, insultingly so, for Phil to return to the bus, return to _Dan_ , with fifty dollars worth of cocaine clutched in his pale hand in his jacket pocket. Dan looked up as Phil came in, tipping him a polite, stretched smile. Phil responded with a nod, carefully drawing his hand out of his pocket and shaking his jacket down his arms.

They didn’t even bother with the cursory ‘how was it?’ ‘oh, it was fine,’ and Phil shambled off to the bedroom with a barely audible “‘night.” Dan responded in kind.

Phil locked the door behind him, drawing the glass vials out of his jacket pocket and tossing the garment onto his bed. He leaned back against the door, staring at the white powder in his hand. He set one of the vials onto the shelf next to him, considering the other one in his hand.

The seal was easy to crack. Phil moved with deliberation, every movement clear and precise until he had the cap unscrewed. He watched, as if he was no longer in control of his movements but watching from behind a screen, or maybe three inches of bullet-proof glass, as he raised the vial and his left hand, tapping not much out onto the knuckle where his thumb joined the rest of his hand. The movements from there were simple: Press his right thumb, the cap and vial still clutched in his fingers, to his right nostril; lean in; inhale.

The powder rushed to Phil’s head so surprisingly fast he got dizzy, leaning back against the wall and sinking down until he was sat on the ground, his knees up in front of him. He repeated the process, his back almost arching off the wall with how _good_ it felt, especially after so long. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Phil was surprised and concerned it was affecting him this much. The rest of him didn’t care in the slightest.

The vial was empty within the hour, and Phil wondered why he had ever stopped.

 

“Jesus, how many times did you get run over by a semi truck?”

Phil grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Good morning to you too,” he muttered. He slammed the empty coffee pot down on the counter, making Dan jump.

“Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Dan mumbled, going back to his phone. Phil ground his teeth.

“Why is the coffee pot empty?”

“Because I drank the last of it and forgot to put more on, calm down,” Dan snapped. “Jesus, what has gotten _in_ to you?”

“I’m sorry,” Phil grit out. “I forgot to take my pills, I didn’t sleep very well.”

Dan immediately softened, whisking the pot out of Phil’s hand and guiding him to sit down at the small bistro table, fiddling with grounds and knobs and settings until the familiar deep, rich aroma filled the kitchen. Phil felt better immediately, sinking back into his chair slightly. He rubbed his eyes.

“You okay?” Dan asked, glancing pointedly to Phil’s leg. Phil raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Why?” He followed Dan’s gaze down to his legs. His knee was jiggling up and down at an alarming rate of speed. Phil frowned at it, doing his best to still himself. His leg slowed, but then picked right back up, and Phil sighed.

“I give up at this point,” he mumbled, leaning his head on his folded arms. His voice reverberated weirdly between his lips and the table, and he made a face.

Dan’s hand alighted on Phil’s shoulder, rubbing soothing circles. He almost opened his mouth to ask about last afternoon, about what happened, but he didn’t want to broach the subject, especially with Phil over-tired and under-caffeinated. He settled for making wordless, sympathetic noises.

“Thanks,” Phil mumbled. Dan’s hand moved off of Phil’s back, and it took everything within Phil to not push back, looking for the touch.

A mug clinked against the table moments later, and the hand was back. Phil looked up, making eye contact first with the mug of coffee and then with Dan.

“Thank you,” he breathed, reaching for the cup, and Dan smiled.

“Least I could do, considering…” He broke off with a shake of his head, mumbling to himself. Phil didn’t press it, just sipped his coffee like it would save his life. He really needed to look in to getting something to down him as opposed to invigorate him. He toyed with the idea of heroin for all of three seconds before tossing it out. He remembered how good it was, but then also how terrible he felt when coming down off his high. He would stick with safer things. For now.

 

“Thank you, and goodnight!” Phil called, waving through the blinding lights to the sea of screaming fans. His heart beat in his ears, and he could feel himself picking away at his own fingernails, one-handed and without even trying. He tried to capture that sense of euphoria as the lights went down, bottle that feeling up for later. They were in Ohio somewhere: Phil honestly couldn’t remember the name of the city, the past couple of days had been such a blur.

The work lights came on and all of a sudden the only things Phil could register were arms thrown around his neck, and a body pressed to his front. He stumbled back with the unexpected force of Dan’s hug, hugging back on pure reflex.

“Oh god,” Dan groaned, sagging in Phil’s arms. Phil wrangled him into a slightly more manageable position, laughing slightly. He was loopy with adrenaline, sleep deprivation and the line he did that morning, and it was all coming out now. He felt heavy and solid, like a thousand years could pass and he would still be right in that spot, Dan in his arms. He didn’t have the brain power to recognize that as a thought he shouldn’t be having, instead pulling Dan closer, burying his nose in slightly sweaty brown locks.

“Your shirt smells gross,” Phil hummed, swaying slightly. Dan laughed, pushing him off.

“You don’t smell like a bed of roses either, tbh.” Phil snorted, reaching out and pulling Dan back in for a hug.

“Oh,” Dan said, leaning back slightly, unsure of what to do with his hands. “Okay?”

“No talking,” Phil mumbled, and Dan relaxed slightly “Just stay. Here. With me.” Dan nodded slowly, wrapping his arms back around Phil’s shoulders and settling completely into the embrace.

“Meet and greet in fifteen!” someone called, and Dan groaned, starting to pull back from Phil.

“No,” Phil whined, and he sounded so honest, so vulnerable, that Dan stopped immediately. “Stay. For just a little while longer.”

Dan did.

 

They traipsed in through the door to their hotel room, Phil flopping face-first on the bed closest to him and groaning into the mattress. Dan laughed, closing the door behind him as he stepped into the room behind Phil.

“I see which bed is yours, then.”

Phil snorted. “Just be glad you’re getting one for the night.”

“Hits too close to home,” Dan sighed, falling onto his own bed. The silence settled. Phil kicked off his shoes, crawling up the bed to lay his head on the actual pillows.

“Hey Phil?” Dan asked, turning on his side to face the man. Phil made a vague noise, lifting his head to blink, bleary-eyed, back.

“What… uh, what was this evening about?” he asked, picking at a loose thread on the bed’s sheets. He wouldn’t look up at Phil.

“What do you mean? What was what about?”

“The, uh, the hug,” Dan mumbled, finally bringing his gaze up to Phil’s face. Phil shrugged.

“I don’t know. I was coming down off the show. I’m sorry?” Dan shook his head quickly, tripping over himself to speak.

“No no no, it’s all okay just - I was just wondering what it was about, is all. You, um, I didn’t mind it, or anything.”

Phil opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “O-okay.”

“Okay,” Dan echoed, turning onto his back and staring fixedly at the ceiling. He took a deep breath, letting it out as a sigh.

“Well. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get ready for bed.” He stood up, rummaging through his bag for a change of clothes and his tooth brush. Phil hummed.

“Yeah, I probably should too,” he said, as he made no effort to move. Dan chuckled and rolled his eyes, going to the bathroom to change and brush his teeth. Even though his hair was kind of stiff with sweat and product, he didn’t take a shower. He was a firm believer of morning showers, facing the day anew and all of that. Phil, on the other hand, just showered whenever he felt like it. Dan tried not to let it irritate him, but he was nothing if not petty, and the bathroom had been the subject of many spats over the years.

Dan settled for washing his face, sighing as he splashed cool water over his skin. It felt good, very good, and only highlighted how tired he was, given the fact that even ice cold water couldn’t wake him up at all. He brushed his teeth slowly and methodically, changing like a zombie. He kicked his dirty clothes under the sink, resolving to deal with them in the morning, shambling out of the bathroom rubbing his eyes.

“Phil?” he yawned, shaking his head to clear it. “Phil, the bathroom’s-“ He stopped abruptly, having opened his eyes to be met with Phil, asleep, his chest rising and falling in time. Dan tiptoed back to shut the bathroom door most of the way, leaving the light on so Phil would have enough to see by in case he woke up in the middle of the night. He turned off the main light, creeping towards his bed. He paused for a moment, looking down at Phil.

He looked so _peaceful_ as he slept. The bruised bags under his eyes disappeared, his already timeless face looked even younger. Up close, Dan could see the beginnings of stubble forming on his cheeks and chin. Phil’s eyes moved under his lavender eyelids, and Dan realized, with a sinking sensation beginning in his throat and seeping down into his stomach, that he was in _love._ He was in _love_ with his _best friend_. His stomach churned, and he almost fell over.

Dan knew he had had a crush on Phil when they had first met, but that was all he thought it was; a crush. He was young and Phil had shown him attention, had actually wanted to have Dan around, and Dan was easy. But this- this was something else. This was head-over-heels, would die for you, give you the world, hold you when you cry, kisses in the rain-type of love. The fans were right; he was in love with Phil, he just hadn’t been able to see it. Dan was floored.

If Dan were a braver man, or even just a different one, it would have been so easy to lean over, to lean over and place the lightest of kisses on Phil’s forehead, or cheek, or nose, or, if Dan were really brave, his lips. But Dan wasn’t brave, or someone else. He was just Dan. So he gently removed Phil’s glasses, folding them and setting them on the nightstand before he sat back on his bed, drawing the covers over himself and turning to face the wall, his mind swimming with ‘could have’s and ‘what if’s until he fell asleep.

 

Phil awoke, jerked rudely out of sleep by nothing in particular except his own sadistic mind. The fan in the bathroom buzzed, and Phil squinted towards it, trying to roll over before he realized he was still wearing jeans. His sleep-logged brain struggled to catch up, and Phil blinked owlishly at the small fridge in the corner of the room, illuminated by the sliver of light from the bathroom.

He fumbled on the nightstand for his glasses, sliding them onto his nose before looking around. He must have fallen asleep before he changed, and going by the taste in his mouth, before he brushed his teeth, too.

Phil sat up with a groan, tossing a panicked glance over to Dan as soon as he remembered. Dan just snuffled in his sleep, turning over so he faced Phil.

It was hard, changing and brushing his teeth in silence, holding his breath whenever Dan moved a muscle. Phil exited the bathroom nearly ten minutes later, in nothing but pajama pants and minty-fresh breath. He perched on the edge of his bed, watching Dan sleep.

Sometimes Phil forgot how soft Dan really was, behind the self-deprecating jokes and self confidence, but seeing him sleeping, laid out and vulnerable like that, he looked like the eighteen year old kid Phil had first met, with wide eyes and nervous habits. It had been years since Dan had bitten his nails at all.

Phil thought back to those early years, back to when Dan had a huge, starry-eyed crush on Phil and Phil hadn’t seen it. There wasn't a day that went by that Phil didn’t kick himself for not telling Dan the feelings were more than reciprocated. Hypothetical scenarios and vivid dreams were all that Phil really had any more, with the window in which he could have confessed his feelings having long since closed. Maybe he couldn’t be Dan’s boyfriend, but he could be Dan’s best friend, and he threw himself into everything that title entailed with full enthusiasm. But it didn’t stop him from wishing. The fans were right; he was in love with Dan, he just couldn’t tell him.

Phil rubbed his eyes and sighed, turning away. His blank gaze tripped and wandered around the room, eventually settling on the single beam of light that stretched from the crack in the bathroom door. He followed it from its source, his gaze eventually landing on the small fridge. _The minibar._

Each step was measured, taken on tiptoes, designed to be as silent and unnoticeable as possible. He and Dan hadn’t booked super luxurious hotel rooms on the tour; living in a flat together, then a bus meant that they were more than happy living practically on top of each other. Still, as Phil pulled the handle, breaking the seal of the fridge, he kind of wished that had gone for one of the suites. Those had full-size bottles of whisky and scotch and vodka, as opposed to the tiny, plastic bottles Phil still drew out of the fridge, three in each hand. He considered his options, rolling the cold bottles in his fingers before finally settling on two of vodka and one of rum, carefully placing the rest back and standing from where he was crouched.

Phi sat on his bed, cracking open one of the vodkas to start. If Dan’s eyes were opened he would have seen the entire thing, from how Phil tossed back two and a half shot’s worth of vodka like it was water, a lip bite and a head shake all the chaser he needed before downing the next bottle. Phil sat back against his pillow, opening his phone and pulling up a random game. He tapped and swiped as the instructions told him to, the liquor finally sinking in after about thirteen lives. His vision blurred and he locked his phone, warm bubbles rising from his chest to his head, spreading down through his finger tips, making him feel sluggish and content.

Dan made a noise and turned over, groaning slightly, and Phil shot underneath the covers, closing his eyes and pretending to be alseep. Dan didn’t move again. Phil came back out of the covers and sipped on the rum, making a face at how sweet it was compared to the fruity-er taste of the vodka.

“Phil,” Dan mumbled, turning onto his back. Phil closed the rum, hiding it behind his back like a child.

“Phil,” Dan said again, a little louder and a little more desperate this time. He rolled back over to face Phil, and Phil took in his scrunched up nose and tight grimace with the happy neutrality of a drunk man.

Dan was still shifting around as Phil cracked the rum open again, ending up on his front. Phil watched as Dan gasped, then shook, then fell into some sort of steady wiggling rhythm.

_Holy shit,_ Phil thought. _Dan’s having a wet dream. About me._ A drunken, prideful smile stretched across Phil’s lips. This was a good thing, but he didn’t know why. Some part of him wanted to help out, and he frowned thinking about what that would entail. Probably standing up, and Phil wasn’t about to move for any reason other than more liquor. Speaking of which, he still had a half-full bottle of rum in his hand, and he squinted at it, wondering why it was so small before shrugging and downing it regardless. He shoved the empty bottle under his pillow, remembering that secrecy was important.

Dan made another few noises, a series of whimpers and moans of Phil’s name.

“Shh,” Phil whispered, chastising him. “You gotta be quiet with stuff like that.”

Phil slid back under the covers, laying with his hands under his head as he watched Dan grind into the mattress. It was fascinating, the way Dan’s face moved and contorted but his eyes remained closed. Phil turned on this his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Phil,” Dan whispered once more before stilling. Phil’s eyes drifted shut with a smile on his face, and he was asleep before he could work out why Dan getting off to him was a step in the right direction.

 

Dan was dressed and sat at the desk by the time Phil woke up with a groan.

“Turn off the sun please,” he muttered, turning onto his front and pulling the sheets up and over his head. Dan laughed, standing up and closing the curtains. Phil sighed as the world was thrown into darkness, sitting up and sighing. He ambled to the bathroom, not missing the way Dan’s eyes followed his bare torso all the way to the closed bathroom door. Phil leaned his hands on the counter and sighed, fishing in his toiletries bag for the bottle of painkillers he knew he had. He took four, downing them with a handful of lukewarm water from the tap. 

A realization hit Phil in the face like an angry pimp, and he almost choked on his pills. _Dan had gotten off to him last night_. All of the details swirled behind Phil’s eyes, from the groans of his name to the way Dan bit his lip. He quickly splashed water on his face, turning the faucet off and making eye contact with his own, dripping refection in the impeccably clean hotel mirror. He wondered how much Dan remembered, if anything at all. 

Dan looked up when Phil exited the bathroom, still shirtless, to retrieve a change of clothes. He blushed and looked away, chewing on his thumbnail. Phil tried not to think about what that meant, in terms of Dan, in terms of them, in terms of anything.

 

“I’m so excited,” Phil said out loud to no one in particular as he saw a sign reading ‘ _Welcome to the state of Illinois’_ fly by the window.

“Why?” Dan asked, looking up from where he was curled in the armchair with a book. He set it down on its face, in the way the Phil itched to correct, and came to sit next to Phil on the couch by the window.

“Juno.”

“Pardon?”

“Juno. They’re the twin of one of my old university friends. You remember Allison?” Dan did. She was pretty, slight and Asian, and tried to get into his pants once. So yeah, he remembered her. He leaned his head against Phil’s shoulder.

“Juno is her younger sibling.”

Dan nodded, the movement pushing his hair around against Phil’s arm.

“I always admired Juno, for doing their own thing, you know?”

Dan hummed, his eyes slipping shut.

“Juno was just always _Juno,_ and they didn’t let anyone else tell them who Juno was supposed to be.” Phil paused for a moment, looking out the window at the unending expanse of cornfields. “God, what even is in Illinois besides corn?”

“Some pigs, and a barn if you’re lucky,” Dan quipped, and Phil laughed. They lapsed into silence once more.

“Like the you in a dress thing that was going around,” Phil said. Dan spluttered.

“What?”

“There’s a thing that’s going on, a trend of drawing you in dresses. I don’t know. It’s reminding me a lot of Juno, how they were when I knew them.”

Dan hummed noncommittally, desperately trying to squash down the jealousy in his chest for this Juno person.

“Where do they live?” Dan asked lightly, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Chicago.”

“Oh, lucky us then, going right to their city.”

“Yeah.” Phil smiled down at Dan. A field of horses whizzed by, and Phil watched them.

“You want to watch something, or-“

“God yes please,” Dan sighed, standing up and stretching. Phil really, _really_ wanted to raspberry his stomach, but he restrained himself. Barely.

“Cool. I’m going to go to the bathroom, I’ll be back in a minute.” He stood up, walking back towards the bathroom, and locking the door behind him. He honestly didn’t know why he locked it, since Dan was the only other one on the bus and he knew Phil was in there. Bedsides, it didn’t matter, and Phil drew the vial of cocaine out of his pocket with shaking hands.

He flushed the toilet and ran the sink for believability, and walked out of the bathroom. His hands were still.

 

Phil knew flowers were a cliche, but there was no other way he could think of to do it. Besides, Dan was always complaining about how there was never enough light and personal touches in the tour bus, and what better personal touch than plants, in Phil’s mind. The florist, a sweet young girl who hadn’t look freaked out or amused when Phil had barged in saying “I need something that will tell my best friend of nearly a decade I’m in love with him,” had recommended yellow tulips, not only for the bright, sunny colour, but for the fact that they meant hopeless love. Phil felt that more than appropriate, handing her a twenty pound note before blushing and fumbling an American twenty out of his pocket. The girl laughed, taking the American twenty.

“I get it, being on a national tour from London must be hard,” she said, and the color drained from Phil’s face. She had recognized him. Which, he considered, was bound to happen, considering how large their fanbase is.

“Please, don’t-“ The girl nodded sagely.

“Of course. Your secret is more than safe with me, Phil.”

Phil breathed for what felt like the first time in hours.

“Oh, thank you-“ he squinted at her name tag, almost smiling with the irony, “-Lily, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Lily said, handing Phil the flowers. “I hope Dan likes them.”

“I do to,” Phil confessed, tipping her another grateful smile on his way out the door. “Have a nice day!”

“You too! Lily called, waving after him. She sat down hard in the chair behind the counter. Well. What a story to tell her friends, if and when the two ever publicly came out.

 

Phil felt good when he walked back into the bus, the overcast Chicago skies doing nothing to damper his good mood. He practically skipped onto the bus, his heart pounding with anticipation and nerves.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that Dan wasn’t in the living room, and he paused, listening for a moment, before setting the flowers down on the counter and snorting another bit of cocaine. He pocketed the vial, wiping his nose and picking the flowers back up. The bus was eerily quiet, but Phil paid it no mind. Dan was an adult, he could go out if he wanted to. Phil was already thinking ahead, wondering what Juno would say to them going out for breakfast in the morning, instead of their planned dinner. Phil hoped it would be okay. He loved Juno to bits, and he really wanted to see them, but the issue with Dan was much more pressing. He assumed Juno would understand.

Phil was stopped cold in his tracks when he saw Dan, sat crosslegged on the bed, facing away from Phil. Phil quietly set the flowers on the floor outside the door, stepping across the threshold. The temperature felt like it dropped five degrees, but Phil pressed on, stepping closer.

“Dan? You okay?”

Dan didn’t respond, just kept staring straight ahead. He was rolling something between his fingers, and Phil leaned over his shoulder to try and see what it was. His blood ran cold when he realized.

Dan held Phil’s other vial, three quarters full. The empty pill bottle was on the sheets in front of him.

“I-I can explain,” Phil sputtered, almost tripping over himself as he backed up.

“Sure, you can explain,” Dan said, in a voice Phil had never heard before. It was cold and low and sharp; merciless. “You want to go ahead and explain this to me? Was it an accident? Is it not yours?”

“I- yes, I mean no…” Phil eyes were wide, and his heart was ready to beat out of his chest. Dan snarled, spinning around to face Phil. His eyes were half-lidded and dark, swirling with so many emotions. Fear, bitterness, disappointment - Phil wanted to crawl into a hole and never, ever come out.

“How long, Phil,” Dan asked, the anger in his tone almost hiding his cracking voice. “How fucking long?”

“A-about three weeks, since-“

“I fucking-“ Dan was so close to tears, scrubbing his hands through his hair so it stood up in the way their fans affectionately dubbed a quiff. Phil wanted to die. Spots danced in front of his vision but he blinked them away.

“The bottle under the pillows I understand. You wanted to have a drink, you didn’t want me to know, and that’s fine. Hell, I’ve done that. But three? I start to worry. And then to come back here, and look for the remote to watch some fucking Food Network, instead finding an empty pill bottle and _cocaine._ COCAINE, Phil! While you were out buying it, while you were snorting it, did you ever fucking think? Did a single fucking thought cross your fucking mind? Maybe, oh, I don’t know the fact that you’re doing hard drugs?!” Dan was hysterical by the end of his little rant. He threw the vial at Phil, who only caught it out of pure instinctive reflex. He opened his mouth to speak, holding the vial with shaking hands.

“Dan, I-“

“I don’t fucking want to hear it,” Dan snapped, beginning to pace. “Did you even consider what this would do? To you? To our fans? To our careers? To _me_ for Christ’s sake Phil! Did you even, for a single bloody second, think of someone besides yourself?”

Phil was shell-shocked, his mouth opening and closing and no words coming out. Dan wiped his eyes, muttering under his breath.

“Fucking hell, Phil,” Dan spat. “What started it, huh? You didn’t just wake up one day and decide to do cocaine, what fucking started it?”

“The pills that yo-“

“The pills that I got you? Oh, sure, this is all my fault now? I was trying to fucking _help_ you, for god’s sake!” Dan was full on crying by this point, burning tears of contempt and anger streaking his cheeks. “I didn’t _know,_ Phil, I had _guessed_ but how could I know-“

“Fine, you want to know? I was addicted, Dan, for eighteen months. The gap year I keep saying I took? Yeah, during then. At first it was cash for liquor and cocaine, Dan, and then it was blowjobs and a rough fuck for heroin.”

“If you have any of that on or in you Phil I swear to god I will walk out this door and you will never see me again.”

“No! No, I don’t.” Dan made for the door regardless, but Phil stopped him. “Dan I don’t, it was only the cocaine, I swear-“

“Yeah, because your word is worth its weight in fucking gold now,” Dan said bitterly. Always the poet, even when he was this mad. Phil fell a little more in love with him.

They stood there, silently, nose to nose. Dan wiped his eyes, clenching his teeth and stepping back.

“I could fucking hit you right now Phil, don’t give me a reason to.”

Phil’s lip trembled. Dan sneered, getting back into Phil’s face.

“No offense, but you’re really not in the position to play the victim, Phil.”

Something yellow and green in the hallway caught Dan’s eye, and he pushed past Phil to see what it was.

“Dan, no don’t-“ Phil tried to wrench the flowers from Dan’s hands but he was too late. Some flower heads popped off their stems, rolling on the ground like decapitated heads. Dan held the note that had been attached to the bouquet:

_I’m sorry. I’ve loved you for so long, and this is the only way I can tell you. All I can do is hope you feel the same. P.L._

“So,” Dan said, and Phil could see how tightly his jaw was clenched even from five feet away. “No wonder you were so excited to come to Chicago. You had to tell Juno _in person_ how much they mean to you.”

“Dan, no, I- These aren’t for them-“

“Oh, so it’s someone else? Jesus Phil, if it’s been so long why don’t I know them? I’m not even close enough to you to know who you’ve been in love with for so l-“

“No!” Phil screamed, shaking his head as tears began to prickle behind his eyelids. “Just shut up!”

Dan was deathly quiet. Phil sobbed, sinking to the floor.

“I’m leaving,” Dan said shortly, grabbing a coat off the back of the couch. He neither noticed more cared that it was Phil’s, slinging it on over his shoulders.

“No! Please,” Phil begged, reaching one hand up to try and grab Dan.

“Get the _fuck_ off of me,” Dan sneered, kicking Phil off. “Have fun with your cocaine and your one true love Phil!” he shouted as he slammed the door open, letting in the wind and the rain that had started up. “I hope you’re finally happy.”

“Dan please!” Phil cried, but Dan was too far away to hear him, already gone into the twilight thunderstorm. Lightning cracked, illuminating his fleeing form for one second longer. He was running away. That somehow hurt even more.

Phil howled his sobs, grabbing the vial that Dan had found and smashing it against the floor, the glass shattering and spearing his hand. Powder flied everywhere, blood dripping and making the small pile of the stuff on the carpet in front of Phil sizzle and dissolve. He opened the vial that was still in his pocket, snorting the entire thing of it in less than the minutes. His heart raced erratically as his eyelids drooped.

At least in the darkness of unconsciousness, there was calm.

**Author's Note:**

> lol this isn't getting a sequel btw. enjoy ur suffering. it's my job.


End file.
